Saving TroySomewhat
by TheImpossiblePen
Summary: What if the city of Troy had not fallen completely in the battle between the Trojans and the Greeks? Based on the narration provided by Homer's Iliad, this possibility will be creatively explored. NOTE: This essay was published with express permission from the Institution for whom this piece was written (by Yours Truly).
Night had fallen and the Gods had all gathered at Olympus. I sat draped across the chaise, my cup nearly overflowing with nectar as droplets fell from the rim of the golden, bejeweled chalice in my hand. The sweet ruby liquid, lifeblood of the Gods, left me feeling quite boneless—tipsy, even—as the evening wore on. I was surrounded by the pleasant hum of conversation and the soft, soothing sounds of the Lyre. As I held the chalice to my lips, I allowed my eyes and attention to wander the tableau laid out before me.

I, Klotho, was the spinner of fates. It was my job to declare upon a man's birth—mortal or otherwise—the path of a man's life. Of course, the endings we fates saw were based on a multitude of possible futures, and all we did was share this most pertinent information with the mighty cloud-gatherer, Zeus. The fates were knowledgeable of even _his_ destiny, I thought with an amused grin. I shook my head and indulged in yet another sip of nectar, enjoying the numbness that signaled my inebriation.

The surrounding torches cast a golden glow about the great hall and a fire burned in the hearth at the center of the room, its embers reflecting off the marble columns and casting shadows to the farthest reaches of the great hall. I lifted my gaze from the dancing flames and watched as Ganymede rose to fill Zeus' cup once more with nectar. Zeus sat on his throne in all his majestic glory, dressed in fine white linen, with golden sandals upon his feet. A golden crown sat upon his dark-maned head, brows arched expressively as he leaned toward his servant in conversation. His booming laugh could be heard across the hall, and heads turned in response before the light drone of conversation continued.

Young Persephone stood beside her mother's chair, ever the obedient daughter. Demeter, clad in her fine robes, looked up at her progeny and smiled, speaking quietly. Moments later the young goddess nodded, giggled and ran off, silent as a nymph in her departure.

A raucous bout of laughter captured my attention. I swung my gaze off to the right, away from the general congregation of the Gods and Goddesses. Our illustrious war God and Goddess fought each other, metal clashing and sparks flying on impact. Ares bore an expression of determination while Athena's cheeks were rosy with exhilaration. Her blue eyes shone with mischief, a fierce smile lighting her beautiful, tanned face as she gracefully danced out of reach of her brother's sword. One good sweep of her own sword tip sent his bronze clattering to the stone floor. "Ares, come, now," she crowed in triumph when the God of War failed to keep his footing. He appeared not at all pleased. "You, the all-powerful God of War, and you cannot best your own sister? What hope does Humanity have?" She spread her arms, turning her twinkling gaze to each of the Olympians in turn, walking a slow circle to better emphasize her brother's failure. The Goddess' dress swung as she spun to face her brother.

Our Queen bent forward in her throne, openly chuckling at this display. "Athena, dear one," she called above the laughter, "Do not taunt your brother so!" She cast a sidelong glance at her husband and smirked, adding, "It is an inherent weakness among our godly men, you see. They lose their senses and cannot control themselves. They fall many, _many_ times before they find their footing…" Her grin turned wolfish as she observed her husband's barely-concealed irritation. She simply straightened her pristine, gold-embroidered dress, looking out over her domain, finally folding her hands in her lap.

Somewhere in the middle of the siblings' melee, Poseidon rested heavily on his left arm and leaned beyond Hera to speak to Zeus. "Brother, I have a proposal." He waved his hand at the display of fighting prowess before them. "This is all well and good, indeed…but suppose we wage a competition to…quell the boredom?" He arched his brows at the cloud-gatherer, amusement held barely in check.

Zeus sat up, then, watching his brother intently. He nodded in slow contemplation, one side of his mouth rising in appreciation for the God of the Sea's manner of thought. "I am listening. Go on," he prodded, sipping at his own nectar. He did not miss Hera rolling her eyes in exasperation. "Oh, come now! A friendly competition among the Gods—exactly whom is it going to hurt, my dear?"

Hera shook her head and narrowed her eyes at Poseidon. She waited, drumming her slender digits against the arms of her throne, biting her tongue in response to her husband's words.

Poseidon sat straight, addressing all as attention had settled upon him. "A wager—all of the Danaan kings against the Trojans at the City of Troy. The objective, of course, is to see to Troy's absolute destruction!" A murmur rose up in response and he fought the urge to chuckle aloud. Oh, he had them now. "Troy shall fall, the Argives shall have no mercy-"  
-"You trust in the Achaeans perhaps a bit too much," Apollo chortled from across the room. He bent forward in all of his nude glory and met the Earthshaker's steely gaze. He raised a hand to halt the din, to better confront his uncle. "They are mere mortals, after all, mere pawns. What fine sport this ought to be!" He practically cackled in glee at the thought of the game to come.

Zeus, with his chin on fist, turned his gaze slightly to look first at Atropos then to Lachesis and then me in turn, his expression slightly cajoling in nature. Atropos did _not_ like to change fate in any way, shape or form, and what the inhabitants of Mount Ida's magnificent Olympus had in mind would most certainly alter the fates for both the Danaans and Trojans alike. She visibly bristled, her hands tightening their hold on each of the arms of her chair. "Moirae, my dear all-knowing Fates, you who lay our lives out before you in such careful deliberation…" He spread his large hands wide, a smile creasing his forever young, handsome face. After a very long pause, followed by an audible growl of frustration, Atropos nodded. We were all well-acquainted with Zeus getting what he wanted, no matter the cost. Atropos met my eyes and nodded in resignation, her eyes rolling skyward as if praying for the strength to refrain from strangling Zeus.

Lachesis could be heard across the room, whispering hoarsely, "Are you certain this is wise, Atropos?" Atropos waved Lakhesis off, frowning slightly. I took my queue and began spinning fine, golden threads that would spell out this altered fate. With the Gods at the helm, I thought with a shake of my head, anything could happen…

Artemis sat beside her twin brother, Apollo, looking thoroughly amused. She clapped her hands together and gestured toward Hecate, our Goddess of witchcraft. "Hecate, your skills will certainly-"

-"Artemis, that is cheating," Persephone chastised sweetly, giggling at the seer as she returned to her mother's side. "Oh, do forgive Artemis, Hecate. She should know an honest game must be set forth with no knowledge of the future..!"

Artemis stuck her tongue out at the little Goddess, bristling that her desire had been overridden. "Who said it had to be _honest_?" she muttered under her breath. She quickly rose her voice for the others to hear. "We shall play blindly, then, and to the victor the other kingdoms shall fall," she conceded, her tone sharp with irritation.

The nectar continued to flow, and the Olympians had gotten to be quite boisterous. It became clear who stood for the Achaeans and who stood for Troy, and they gathered on opposite sides of the fire. Hecate provided a portal—a window-with which to view the mortal world.

We watched events unfold, and I spun silently, pausing occasionally to have Lachesis cut the shimmering threads upon Atropos' direction.

This war began with a contest between the Goddesses: Hera, Aphrodite and Athena; they fought for a golden apple inscribed "For the Fairest". [i] In order to decide whom should possess such a prize, they enlisted Paris, the beloved Prince, and son of King Priam of Troy, to choose which one of the three goddesses was the most beautiful. They all offered a bribe to sway his favor, but Aphrodite promised the one thing he desired most—Helen. Paris chose Aphrodite, of course, and was granted his one true desire.

Aphrodite 'assisted' with Paris' seduction of Helen, ensuring that Helen would accept his advances. Helen became Paris' bride but also remained Menelaus' wife. What she did not know was, it had long ago been prophesized that Paris would be the reason for the City of Troy's destruction. It had come to pass. The Goddess sat back on her throne, looking very pleased with herself. She appraised her fellow Olympians, mischief adorning her face plain as day.

Tension rose between the two nations, for King Agamemnon had refused to send his Trojan slave, Briseis, home when her father had begged him—he had threatened the old man with his life, should Briseus come about again. Briseus had offered to pay Briseis's ransom. Upon that refusal, Briseus called upon Apollo, begging the God to "pay for my tears with your arrows".[ii] With Menelaus grievously wronged, it was an excuse to further justify the war. There was, however, a break in the fighting when King Agamemnon proposed a truce. He decreed that a duel would be fought between Menelaus and Paris in order to decide who would lay claim to Helen.

We watched as Agamemnon ordered the sacrifice for the duel to be blessed by the Gods. "Now bring two lambs," he called. "One white, and the other black, to be offered to Earth and Sun, and let us bring a third for Zeus." [iii] Zeus nodded his agreement, watching intently. They did perform the sacrifice, and King Priam was brought forth to forge the truce alongside Agamemnon.

The air crackled with excitement as the duel began. Menelaus and Paris stood face-to-face, spears in hand. A soldier called the battle to order and leaped back out of the way as the men lunged at each other like rabid dogs. Each man took every advantage to strike a lethal blow, circling each other, their bodies suggestive of an unshakeable animosity toward each other. Paris caught the King upside of his head, just above his right eye, where blood began to trail down the side of Menelaus' face. Paris swept the feet of his opponent and Menelaus landed hard on his back, the spear he had held clattering to the ground. Menelaus, breathing hard, fought to free himself from Paris' assault. As he rolled, Menelaus gave a mighty roar, caught hold of Paris' left calf, and sent the Prince sprawling to the ground with an audible thump and the resounding rattle of armor.

The surrounding soldiers watched this display with rapt attention, each trying to be heard above the din as they shouted in support of their man. Menelaus leaped to his feet, leveled his spear and stabbed toward the young man's neck and shoulders. Paris spun away, his own spear locked momentarily against the enemy weapon. With a snarl, the young Prince shoved the King away—but not before Menelaus managed to land a damaging blow with a vicious kick to the ribs.

Menelaus took advantage of Paris' winded state and charged forth. He thrust the spear into Paris' chest. Paris howled in agony and he collapsed to his knees, Menelaus following as he held the offending weapon in his hands while it remained lodged in the body of the fallen. Paris lay still, then, as the spear had pierced his heart. Menelaus clambered to his feet, shaking and sweating with exertion. Blood pooled beside the deceased Prince, and in moments, King Priam sent servants out to collect his dead son. His face was marred with grief though I am certain he knew Paris had brought this unto himself.

Aphrodite rose from her throne, her face a mask of fury. "NO!" she cried, teeth bared as she stared at the scene within the portal. "He was not supposed to die!" She gestured sharply toward the portal, glaring at each of the Olympians in turn.

"Oh, hush, Aphrodite," Athena chastised, glaring at the Goddess of Love. "The fates have spoken. He awarded _you_ the golden apple; his demise was _well_ earned!"

Zeus glanced beside himself; Hera was smiling, hands clasped together as she watched the battle come to an end. "Enjoying this, are you?" he murmured quietly.

"Oh, indeed," Hera smiled broadly, relaxing into the back of her throne. She reached for her chalice again, took a long pull of nectar, and set the chalice aside once more. "What fun!"

Demeter was dismayed by the sheer animalistic nature of the fight. As the Goddess of the seasons, this was a bit too much—even for a divine Goddess. "Persephone, look away," she commanded sharply, reaching for the little Goddess. Persephone could only blink in stunned silence.

I shifted my gaze to Atropos. Oh, she was beyond unhappy; she was muttering to herself, a sure sign of distress. We knew that Paris should have survived the duel…I was curious who had interfered to change the course so; I got my answer when I leveled my gaze on a very satisfied looking Poseidon. He wore a Cheshire grin, and we all knew he had only to raise a finger to force mortals to bend to his whim. He must have thrown Paris off balance. I continued to spin the threads of fate. I looked at Lachesis, and I could see she was preoccupied. "Sister?" I inquired softly. She gave me a ghost of a smile, continuing to measure the strands of fate.

"I know he should have lived," she murmured softly. "But I must now determine who shall fall in his place…" She was gazing off into nothingness for a very long moment before nodding. "Alright. It will be done," she said solemnly.

I nodded in understanding. My dear sister had been investigating our options in light of these changes.

Where Aphrodite would have planned to steal Paris from the fight and return him safely home, where she promptly took the form of a wool-comber [iv] to entreat Helen to go to him, she instead bore news of the fight that Helen had already surmised; that Alexander had been lost to the duel.

"Is it because Menelaus has overcome glorious Alexander, and wishes to take me, loathed woman, to his home, that you now stand beside me?"[v] Helen asked, raising her eyes from the floor to beseech the old woman before her.

Aphrodite stood with Helen, clasping the woman's hands between her own. Looking up, she nodded. "It is so," she said softly. "Go to him, Helen." Through the old woman's guise, she implored the daughter of Zeus with wide blue eyes. "Please. It will be better for you to face your husband…"

Helen sat silent, tears falling down fair cheeks, and she swiped them angrily away. "Bitch-faced that I am,"[vi] she whispered, her voice raw with pain, "Death should have been my choice when I came here, to be with [Alexander], leaving my home and my family, my late-born daughter and the pleasant company of my friends. But that is not how it happened."[vii] She shook her head, a sob breaking the silence within her chambers. Aphrodite accompanied the grieving lady, taking her to Menelaus.

With Helen's love slain, a truce was drawn because of Paris' death, and Menelaus flaunting his win, the Gods grew restless. With a lull in the fighting, a possible end to this bloody war, Zeus pulled Athena aside after a very quiet conversation with Queen Hera. He told her, "Go as fast as you can to the Trojan and Achaean camps, and try to ensure that the Trojans are the first to give offense to the far-famed Achaeans, by breaking their oaths."[viii] Athena did as commanded, more than happy to carry out this task. She did enjoy a little instigation every now and then...

Hurtling down to land in the middle of the battlefield, disguised as a Trojan soldier, Athena wove her way into the Trojan camp. She found Pandarus, an Archer. She bade him to avenge Prince Alexander and bring honor to the Trojans by releasing an arrow destined for Menelaus; she did not want the man dead, merely injured.

Apollo watched in stunned silence, his mouth working but no sounds coming forth. Had Zeus really…? I was a bit surprised, myself, and momentarily halted my spinning. He raised his gaze to the God. "They had a truce!" he argued, gesturing toward the fight.

Zeus nodded slowly in agreement. "Yes, they did. And it is a truce no longer," he responded. He turned his gaze to the Sun God. "Your Queen has spoken." He turned his attention back to the fight.

Hera kissed her husband's cheek, smiling. "There are times, husband, when you are the most generous, loving soul," she cooed, stroking his beard. Her eyes locked with his, she whispered, "Thank you, my King…"

Ares got up and left, determined to have his say in the outcome of this battle. The other Gods and Goddesses did the same, each set on playing a part in this contest, with a chance to turn the tide in each their own favor. They would not sit idly by and let the mortals ruin the competition!

For the Gods and Goddesses, time wore on. As the days passed to months, and the months to years, both sides endured heavy losses. Poseidon, Athena, and Hera continued to support the Achaeans in any way they could, while Ares, Apollo, Artemis, and Aphrodite worked just as tirelessly to halt their progress. Zeus, I thought, seemed to have sided with the Trojans…though his wife did sway his actions frequently.

Achilles, son of Thetis and King Peleus of Phthia, was brought into the battle. His mother had attempted to give her son immortality as an infant, by dipping his little body in the river Styx; it did not work, and she had been saddened, but Zeus had offered either Achilles a "short and glorious life"[ix], with all its greatness, or longevity and mediocrity. Thetis had chosen for her son to have a life of glory. Achilles had been sent to Troy to fight, recruited by Odysseus and found to be one of the Danaans' finest warriors. He hadn't wanted to fight, but he did go as ordered. Fifty ships had been sent to troy, and among the soldiers, Patroclus stood at the warrior's side as his advisor and the voice of reason. Achilles did not realize Patroclus had taken his fine armor, created at the hands of Hephaestus himself, and had gone to stand as Achilles in battle. What should have caused the Trojans to turn and run was the sight of the beloved son of Zeus in armor…but they did not run. Instead, Patroclus wound up in combat with Sarpedon. Patroclus had not been expected to fight and as such, had not "been given armor".[x] Yet there he was, in hand-to-hand combat with Sarpedon, with men falling all around him. Spears, arrows, and other great throwing weapons, carved a path of destruction and cut down many men. Patroclus created havoc of his own, taking down as many Trojans in turn.

In the midst of the battle, Sarpedon saw his men as they were beaten by Patroclus. He called out across the battleground, "Shame, Lycians! Where are you running? Be quick now! I am going out to confront this man, to find out who it is that prevails here, and has indeed inflicted great hurt on the Trojans unloosing the limbs of many noble men." [xi]

I watched as Zeus moved to sit on the edge of his throne, and his hands gripped the armrests ferociously. The God seemed suddenly very anxious. I looked over to Lachesis, then to Atropos, and they simply shook their heads to warn me from saying a word. I simply spun away….

As Sarpedon vaulted out of his chariot, in full armor and looking massive as he struck the ground, Patroclus did the same. Moments later the two charged at each other in a fury, weapons raised high, shields at the ready. Thrasymelus, Sarpedon's attendant, stood between the men. Patroclus propelled his spear firmly in the attendant's belly. When he fell, Sarpedon sent a spear flying toward Patroclus. He missed, and once again. With enough of an opportunity for Patroclus to throw his spear, he connected; the weapon lodged firmly in Sarpedon's abdomen, piercing his heart. Sarpedon collapsed backward to the earth, his final moments spent looking at the metal weapon protruding from his body. Moments later, Patroclus stepped on Sarpedon's chest and pulled the spear free of the warrior's body; his life going along with it. There was but a moment of grief and silence.

Zeus watched, and great sadness touched his face as he witnessed his son's defeat. He turned his gaze to Hera. She stood, moved to stand at the God's side, and with hands on his shoulders, she softly said, "What is it that you have said? This is a mortal man whose due destiny was fixed long ago. [Was] it really your desire to release him from Death's gloomy lament?"[xii]

Zeus sighed and let the emotion fade. He was trying to be impartial, I could see that. Terribly difficult, I guessed, watching his face. When Hector, Prince of Troy, stepped forth, the Aegis-wearing God intervened directly.

With merely a thought, Zeus presented himself to the combatants. "ENOUGH!" he roared, fiery rage setting his eyes ablaze. Lightning flashed above the God in a nearly cloudless sky as he surveyed both the Achaean and Trojan soldiers. Hera stood at his side, surprised by this turn of events.

"My Lord, what-?" Hera swept her arm to indicate the entirety if the situation. "Our warriors were fighting so bravely, bringing their people honor and our favor!" Her voice rose for all to hear. "Do you propose to tell them that their sacrifices, their heartaches, their wounds…were all for naught?"

Zeus walked slowly through the carnage, his eyes fixed on his fallen son. He paused to rearrange Sarpedon's cloak in a more dignified manner, and then he stood slowly. "My wife, we have lost so many mortals—mortals who have sacrificed and given to the Gods much of what they have…" He paused as it hit him; he knew how to appease Hera. Zeus gestured for Hermes, the messenger, to come to him. When the Olympian did, he spoke quietly. "Bring my daughter to me." Hermes did as commanded, gone in the blink of an eye.

Hera watched her husband with confusion, her gaze traveling back to the mortals all around her.

Zeus stopped in front of his wife, meeting her questioning gaze. "You bear anger toward the City of Troy, do you not?" She nodded uncertainly. Zeus nodded. He turned to face the Trojan people. Moments later, Hermes appeared with Helen in his grasp. Zeus studied his daughter, arms crossed over his massive chest.

Helen stood frozen, fear flooding her senses. "M-My King," she stuttered. "Wh-why am I here, father?"

Zeus pulled the woman to his side, laying an arm across her petite shoulders. "I wish to save your fair city, Trojans," he offered solemnly. "But to do so, you must be forgiven!" He turned to Hera. "My Queen, what can they do to appease your anger?"

Hera stepped forward, grasped Helen's chin in her hand. "I want…her life," she stated simply, softly, her eyes cold and cruel at that moment. "You offended my people, Helen. You broke an oath to your own husband, dishonoring the Danaan people in doing so. You have confessed your guilt." Helen's eyes went wide as the gravity of Hera's accusations hit her. Hera whipped her head about to look at the Trojan Prince. "Hector, he is fond of you, is he not?" she asked softly. Even I could see that Helen was afraid to answer the vengeful goddess. Helen was shaking, but she managed to nod. Hera nodded and walked away, circled around a bit. "Hector, come forward!" she called, her voice carrying across the battleground.

The Prince hurried, still bloodied from the fight, but he halted in front of the Goddess, dropping to his knee. "My lady," he gasped, his heart hammering inside his chest.

Hera nodded graciously. "I want to allow Troy's survival, Hector," she purred, circling the Prince, now, her hand grazing his shoulder in passing. She smiled at the fear rolling off the man in waves. "But the people of Troy must be…forgiven." She paused at his ear. "Will you help your beloved Trojans, Hector?" He nodded shakily, closing his eyes as he suddenly appeared queasy. Hera straightened, rounded to face the Trojans, and she set her arm straight out to the side, her finger pointing directly at the cause of this war. "Hector, I charge you with redeeming your fair city! You must offer a sacrifice, and no animal will do. I want Helen's life…and all shall be forgiven." Hera smiled, then, clasping her hands together. "Really quite simple," she chirped, meeting Hector's horrified gaze.

Helen began crying out for mercy the moment Trojan soldiers flanked her left and right sides. They grappled for her arms, and she attempting to fling herself free of their hands. "No! Hera, please," she begged, tears streaming down her face.

With a wave of her hand, Hera set a sword at Hector's feet. She watched him expectantly. I knew as well as Hera how Hector had befriended the shunned bride following her indiscretions, how he had not judged her actions and merely offered friendship. He likely never imagined his kindness would be his undoing, and the end of another by his own hands the result.

Hector picked up the sword. He shook like a leaf, pain etched into his fine features.

I could look no longer. This was beyond cruel, even for Hera. I winced when I heard the sound of sword sinking into flesh, the sounds of Helen's cries fading as her life ebbed, and the sound of metal clattering to the earth, followed by a big body. I looked up from my spinning, and I saw a broken man. Hector, a Prince, reduced to a shaking, heaving mess of a man on his knees, his hands bathed in more than just the blood of his enemies…

Troy had been forgiven, I realized, and I stared at the littered battlefield beyond the portal. I could see Troy's great walls in the distance; they continued to stand tall against the landscape. I prayed that the price paid to restore the Gods' favor would remain sufficient forever more.

 **Works Cited**

* * *

i James, Vanessa. 2003, _The Genealogy of Greek Mythology_. New York (NY: Gotham Books, 2003), 85

ii Verity, Anthony. 2011. _Homer, The Iliad: A new translation by Anthony Verity._ Oxford University Press (Great Britain, Clays Ltd. St. Ives plc), Book One: 4:42

iii Verity, Anthony. 2011. _Homer, The Iliad: A new translation by Anthony Verity._ Oxford University Press (Great Britain, Clays Ltd. St. Ives plc), Book Three: 44:103

iv -. 2011. _Homer, The Iliad: A new translation by Anthony Verity._ Oxford University Press (Great Britain, Clays Ltd. St. Ives plc), Book Three: 51: 380-402

v -. 2011. _Homer, The Iliad: A new translation by Anthony Verity._ Oxford University Press (Great Britain, Clays Ltd. St. Ives plc), Book Three: 52: 403-405

vi -. 2011. _Homer, The Iliad: A new translation by Anthony Verity._ Oxford University Press (Great Britain, Clays Ltd. St. Ives plc), Book Three: 46: 179

vii -. 2011. _Homer, The Iliad: A new translation by Anthony Verity._ Oxford University Press (Great Britain, Clays Ltd. St. Ives plc), Book Three: 46: 173-176

viii -. 2011. _Homer, The Iliad: A new translation by Anthony Verity._ Oxford University Press (Great Britain, Clays Ltd. St. Ives plc), Book Four: 55: 70-72

ix -. 2011. _Homer, The Iliad: A new translation by Anthony Verity._ Oxford University Press (Great Britain, Clays Ltd. St. Ives plc), Book Sixteen: 265: 422-425

x -. 2011. _Homer, The Iliad: A new translation by Anthony Verity._ Oxford University Press (Great Britain, Clays Ltd. St. Ives plc), Book Sixteen: 266: 440-442

xi James, Vanessa. 2003, _The Genealogy of Greek Mythology_. New York (NY: Gotham Books, 2003), 62

xii Scott, John A. 1918. "Achilles and the Armor of Patroclus". _The Classical Journal_ 13 (9). The Classical Association of the Middle West and South: 682–86.  stable/3288355


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